


The Amended Stages of Grief

by RandomFlyer



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bar Hopping, Breaking up is hard to do, Catholic pro-tips, Five Stages of Grief, Foggy has a terrible idea for how to get over a girl, Friendship, Gen, being baptized doesn't stop you from getting arrested, but it's gross, daredevilexchange, drink the eel, except amended, questionable legality of a baptism, stupid bar tricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomFlyer/pseuds/RandomFlyer
Summary: How do you get over a bad breakup? Go out, try to drink the eel, re-write the stages of grief, get arrested. That's how.





	The Amended Stages of Grief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quietshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietshade/gifts).

> Prompts: “Eel” and “Matt and Foggy doing silly stuff to get over Marci and Elektra in college”

**The Amended Stages of Grief **

**8:30 PM**

Foggy slumped into the room with the sort of depression Matt could never describe but could always somehow sense.

“Hey man,” Foggy said, then a spark of curiosity cut through Foggy’s tone. “What happened to you?”

Matt shrugged from his position sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. He felt terrible enough after what happened at Roscoe Sweeney’s house that sitting on the floor felt nearly low enough to suit his mood. He almost didn’t say anything but the silence stretched out until it was uncomfortable. “Elektra dumped me.”

Foggy dropped down on the floor next to Matt, pulling his knees up and draping his arms over them. He dipped his head in a nod then said a moment later. “I just nodded. I feel ya, man, Marci just dumped me, too.”

Matt frowned, tilting his head toward Foggy. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Foggy huffed. Hair brushed against cloth as Foggy looked at Matt. “Though to be fair, I think your breakup was worse than mine. Looking a little rough there, buddy, and did you punch something?”

Matt flexed his hands feeling the pull and sting of a few cuts on his knuckles. He pulled them into his lap and hopefully out of line of sight. “Uh… took out some frustration on a punching bag at the gym.”

“Supposed to wear gloves for that, you know,” Foggy grunted, but thankfully didn’t push. Matt wasn’t sure he could take any mothering at the moment, not after losing Elektra’s casual and unquestioning acceptance of his abilities. 

The silence continued for another few breathes before Foggy shook his head. “This is depressing. We are not going to sit here on the floor and wallow in self-pity.” He pushed himself up to his feet and turned to help Matt up.

“And what’s your suggestion?” If Matt was going to hazard a guess, it would involve alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol.

“We’re getting drunk,” Foggy declared pulling Matt up with more force than necessary.

Matt bounced with the sudden motion up to his feet and frowned at his friend. “We have exams we need to be studying for.”

“We can’t concentrate enough to study right now,” Foggy dismissed with the casual ease of someone pushing off his problems into the future. “We’re heart-broken, jilted, abandoned, cast aside-”

Matt huffed, thinking of the condition Elektra had given to stay with her. No matter what he felt for her, it wasn’t worth murdering another person. It didn’t change that technically, Matt had walked away from Elektra first. “It’s not as bad as that,” Matt said.

“Speak for yourself!” Foggy thrust Matt’s jacket into his hands and turned him toward the door. “You’ll pick up a new girl in no time, but where am I supposed to find some willing to put up with this face?”

“By winning them with your stunning personality,” Matt said, more out of habit than any real desire to banter. All he really wanted to do was curl up on his bed under the blanket and pretend the world didn’t exist for a few hours. That Elektra wasn’t disturbingly homicidal. That Roscoe Sweeney wasn’t alive and on his way to a guaranteed roof over his head and three square meals day. Most importantly, Matt’s heart was broken. Matt huffed a sigh. Maybe going out and getting drunk was a better idea than just sulking in his room.

“You’re getting that mopey expression on your face,” Foggy said and held out his elbow for Matt to take. “You can’t see it, but I’m getting close there myself.”

“So we’re getting wrecked,” Matt concluded. He took Foggy’s elbow and they left the building.

“We are getting _so wrecked_,” Foggy agreed, desperation warring with relish in his tone as he dragged Matt across the street toward the nearest bar.

**9:30 PM**

Matt frowned, rolling his latest bottle of cheap beer between his hands. They were an hour into their self-appointed therapy-drinking night and Foggy was several shots and two beers into the night. Matt still only had a buzz and was finding it difficult to push himself farther. He knew what happened when he got too drunk, particularly in the morning. He wasn’t sure if the hangover was worth it yet.

“I just don’t get what you saw in her in the first place,” Matt said. He’d never had to console a friend after a bad break-up but he’d overheard other people do it and one thing they all had in common was claiming the other party was no good.

“You just don’t understand, Matt!” Foggy wailed.

Thankfully the bar was already loud with pulsing music from the dance section in the back. Matt could feel it reverberating through his bones evens though they were sitting as far as possible from the speakers. He was almost considering drinking more if only to dull the ear-wrenching sound. Still, it did serve one good purpose: nobody seemed to notice Foggy’s increasing volume.

“You don’t even understand that you don’t understand! You can’t see it. And you know why? CAUSE YOU’RE BLIND!” Foggy poked Matt in the shoulder and sniggered. “Get it? There’s a double meaning there. Do you see the double meaning?”’

“I don’t think I see the first meaning…” Matt cocked his head. If this had something to do with Foggy’s claim about pretty girls and Matt…

Foggy let out a breath not dissimilar to one of their teachers when he had to explain something very simple. “It’s mete…metifor…metaphorical but literal at the same time. You don’t see cause you don’t understand but you don’t understand because you don’t see.”

Matt huffed a laugh and took a swig of his beer. “That makes even less sense.”

“You always get the hot ones!” Foggy cried. He threw his hands up and brought them back on the table with a double thud. Matt’s ability to distinguish detailed motion was definitely impaired at this point but he could still make out the big stuff. “Gorgeous women just gravitate to you or you gravitate to them or maybe it’s mutual gravitationing, but it doesn’t matter because you’re blind and you don’t even know how beautiful they are and Marci was the first hottie that wanted anything to do with me in my adult life and you can’t understand that cause you always have hotties wanting to deal with you and you can’t understand THAT cause you’re blind!” By the end of the rant Foggy was wailing again.

Another thump shook the table, this one deeper. Matt reached out, hand coming to rest on the back of a hairy head confirming his suspicions. Foggy had dropped his head on the table. “Fog, you’re exaggerating, besides, there’s more important things than a woman’s outer beauty.”

“Sure, but being hot helps,” Foggy voice came out muffled, speaking into the table. “I feel like I’m in the seventh stage of grief.”

Matt huffed another laugh and shook his head. “There’s only five.”

That brought Foggy’s head back up, even if it was only half way. “Really? Only five? That’s too easy. There should be more. Why aren’t there more?”

“Just cause there’s only five doesn’t mean they’re easy.” Matt shrugged and drained his beer.

“So what are they?” Foggy asked. He pushed himself all the way to a sitting position and check his drink to see if it was empty.

The song in the back of the bar switched to something slower and less migraine inducing. “Uh,” Matt screwed his face as he thought back to the grief counseling the nuns had tried to give him, however limited it had been considering how busy were. “Denial, bargaining, anger, sadness or depression, then acceptance…I think. Not sure of the order.”

Foggy shook his head. “You’re missing some. Before acceptance is beer,” he put his bottle down on the table with a hollow clunk. “Shots,” he clunked one of his empty shot glasses next to his bottle. “And Irish car bombs! C’mon! You’re going to the next stage with me. Bar person, we need two Irish car bombs! We’re working through the stages of grief!”

**11:48 PM**

“Do it, Matt,” Foggy pushed the bottle a little closer.

“That’s disgusting. I’m not doing that.” Matt shook his head. Foggy knew how picky Matt was with food, why would he try to force this on him.

“It’s one of the stages of grief,” Foggy insisted, as solemn as any nun Matt had ever met.

Laughter shrieked from the other side of the bar. From what Matt could tell, it was a twenty-first birthday party. At least this bar wasn’t playing the same loud dance music as the last one. The drinks seemed better quality, too. Though, that would also mean they’re be more expensive.

“Drinking eel liquor is not a stage of grief!” Matt sniffed the open bottle and had to fight a gag reflex. How could Foggy not smell the dead eel? He pushed the bottle back at Foggy.

“Yes, it is,” Foggy adopted his best lawyer tone and pose. “You admit yourself you can’t remember the correct order. How do you know you didn’t forget a stage or two?”

Matt shook his head and regretted it as it sent the room spinning again. He’d just gotten it to settle down. “Alcohol’s never been one of the stages of grief.”

Foggy swept up the bottle in one hand and shook it at Matt. Matt recoiled from the smell. “Are you saying alcohol doesn’t play a part in the grieving process?” Foggy accused. Matt thought it might be with his Perry Mason impression, but he wasn’t sure. The famous lawyer personas were starting to run together at this point.

“I’m not saying anything of the kind!” Matt held up his hands in defense. “I mean maybe it’s a sub stage, or a foot note or…something, but it’s not a stage in and of itself.” Another group of people entered the bar and the noise level increased. So much for this being the quieter option.

“Sub-stages?” Foggy repeated, “There are sub-stages? This gives us hidden and new depths to explore to heal our wounded souls.”

Matt laughed and shook his head again. This time the spinning was more enjoyable. “You watch too much theater.”

“Drink the eel water!” Foggy repeated and jammed the bottle under Matt’s nose.

“No!” Matt shoved himself away and brought his bourbon up between them. “I already have a drink! You drink the eel water!”

“I can’t drink it all on my own!” Foggy shook his head and tilted to one side. “That’s how people go blind!”

Matt jabbed an accusatory finger at Foggy. “So you’re trying to make the blind guy drink something that’s going to make him doubly blind!”

“You’re already blind! You can’t go doubly blind!” Foggy shot back. “Besides I already bought the bottle. I can’t just take it back.”

Matt crossed his arms. “No sympathy. Still not drinking the disgusting eel water.” Another shriek of laughter rose from the birthday group followed quickly with a chant of “chug! chug! chug!” Matt pointed toward the group. “Give it to the birthday girl over there, maybe she’ll like it.”

Foggy turned and looked toward the group. He turned back and looked at the bottle. He thought a moment as the chanting changed over to cheers. Then he took two long swigs from his eel water, got up and headed for the birthday girl.

Matt settled down, sipping at his own drink. He needed to pace himself. He was their last best hope of having a clear head in their group. Foggy was definitely too far gone at this point. He cocked his head and focused just hard enough to tell Foggy had found the birthday girl and was offering his impromptu present. A moment later a shriek cut through the bar. A moment after that Foggy hurried back to the table.

“She didn’t want it,” Foggy said and plunked the bottle back on the table. “Apparently, she’s afraid of eels in consumable preservatives or something like that.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“She didn’t want it ‘cause it’s gross,” Matt said.

“Alright who’s ready for karaoke!” someone called over a set of loud speakers. A chorus of cheers answered. Matt slumped lower in his seat.

**1:23 AM**

This was going to get them kicked out. They’d left the last bar after the karaoke became unbearable and Matt voted they find somewhere quieter. This place was quieter, but the staff was going to kick them out for harassing the other patrons, but at the moment Matt had no idea how to stop his friend. Plus, he was enjoying himself too much to care.

“Hey,” Foggy said, turning to the stranger to his immediate right. “I bet you a shot my blind friend can tell where you got those fancy shoes.”

Matt leaned over, around Foggy. He had to put out a hand on his friend’s shoulder and steady himself as the world spun in a crazy arch. Hopefully, that put himself in line of sight of their newest mark. So far they’d gotten three free shots each for various stunts just like this one. Three free shots and no one had punched them yet, the small part of sober-Matt that was clinging on desperately through everything thought they should probably quit while they were ahead, but drunk-Matt had taken charge of the night probably three drinks ago.

“Ha! You’re on!” The guy sound much bigger than Matt thought he’d be, but there was also a slur there so maybe this guy was gone enough to fall for it. “Ok blind boy, where’d I buy my shoes?”

Matt broke into a wide grin. “Not where you bought them, where you got them,” Matt said, only a slight catch in in his voice and just a little too loud. “You got them on your feet!” He jabbed a finger down toward the ground in the general direction of the man’s feet and nearly over tipped himself. Foggy grabbed him and kept him standing, then leaned on Matt as he nearly lost his own balance laughing.

There was half a beat then the stranger joined in laughing. “Well I walked into that! Three shots over here!” He tapped the bar a few times before one of the bar tenders lined up their shots.

Matt barely had time to down his shot before Foggy had his arm and dragged him farther down the bar.

“He-ey, buddy!” Foggy said, not pointed toward Matt, their next victim then. “What would you say to a little wager?”

“You mean you want to con a drink out of me like you’ve been doing since you got here.” This guy sound the biggest yet and with a deep, mean voice. Matt got the distinct impression of a big hairy biker…or maybe bald. He could be bald. Matt fought the urge rub his hand over the man’s head to find out the stranger’s hair-status. That would probably get him angry and Matt didn’t think that’d be a good idea.

“Hey, Fog, maybe we should go,” Matt tugged on Foggy’s arm, but Foggy shook him off.

“No, it’s not a con. It’s a gentleman’s wager. I bet you I can drink two beers before you finish two shots,” Foggy said in that same bright, hubristically overconfident salesman voice.

Oh, he wasn’t including Matt in this one. That was probably good. Matt was having a hard enough time not swaying into anyone.

“What’s the catch?” the strange asked. The suspicion was heavy enough Matt picked up on it, but not heavy enough to sound any alarms.

“No catch!” Foggy said in his bright, sales-pitch voice. “I get two beers. You get two shots. Whoever finishes last has to buy the next round. No interfering with the other person or their glasses.”

“Alright.” The stranger ordered his shots and waited for Foggy to get his draft beer.

“Matt, say ‘go.’” Foggy elbowed Matt in the side nearly upsetting Matt’s precarious balance. Maybe he’d forgo another free shot, if Foggy managed to win this bet. Though Matt didn’t see how that was going to happen.

“Ready, set, go,” Matt said.

Foggy started gulping down his drink. The stranger threw back his head downing the first shot. He glanced at Foggy then leaned against the bar and huffed a laugh, not even bothering to pick up his second drink as he watched Foggy chug. Foggy was still just finishing his first. Foggy finished his drink and slammed the first glass on the counter with a triumphant “Ha!”

“Shit,” the stranger cursed.

It took a moment for Matt to figure out exactly what had happened. Foggy still had a whole other beer to finish and the other guy just had one shot…which was currently under Foggy’s upside down and empty glass.

“Can’t touch it! I win!” Foggy crowed. “I win all the drinks! I am the king of free drinks! Pay up!”

“That was cheating. I’m not buying you a drink,” the stranger huffed. He uncovered his shot, tossed it back and turned away.

“That’s wasn’t cheating! The rules didn’t say I couldn’t cover your drink.” Foggy reached out and grabbed the guy’s arm.

The stranger whipped around, bringing his fist with him, right into Foggy’s nose. The punch sent Foggy back into another customer. Matt could hear the spilt beer even though the bar took another second to quiet completely.

“Oh no,” Foggy mumbled. Then the room exploded in activity.

Matt pressed himself against the bar cursing the last four drinks that blurred the world into a confusing mass of movement and sound. People shouts, glass shattered, fists met flesh, and wood broke.

“Foggy!” Matt yelled, worried for his friend and doubly cursing his own self-impairment. This was the last time he was ever drinking this much, especially in an unknown bar. From now on, Foggy and Matt were going to find one bar and stick with it. Someplace quiet, where they knew everyone! “Foggy!”

A hand grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him to the ground. Matt barely pulled back his own punch when Foggy gasped, “It’s me! Matt it’s me!”

Matt sagged in relief. “Fog! What happened?” He pulled his legs farther in when someone tripped over them. He folded his cane for good measure.

“I think these are two rival biker gangs,” Foggy said. The slur from the alcohol was gone from his voice, replaced by the telltale nasally sound of a bloody nose with a healthy note of panic. “We gotta get out of here! To the left. Crawl to the left! There’s a back exit at the end of the bar.” Foggy pushed Matt ahead of him and started crawling himself. “Just keep your shoulder to the bar and stay low!”

A stool stood in the way but someone grabbed it before Matt could move it. A moment later the stool crashed against the bar above Matt shattering into dozens of pieces. Matt kept moving. He only made it another foot or two before he heard Foggy yell out from behind him.

“Ah! I’m bleeding!”

Matt spun around and made his way back to his friend. “Where are you bleeding? Besides your nose?” How did this get so out of control?

“Everywhere!” Foggy wailed.

Matt reached out and found his friend, feeling for the injury when he came across something thick and wet but not blood. He frowned, then sniffed and huffed a sigh of relief. “It’s not blood, Fog.”

“But it’s red!”

Matt shook his head. The laugh came out of him was equal parts relief and disbelief. “It’s ketchup and you’re drunk. We’re both drunk and we need to get out of here before those guys start asking how this whole thing got started.”

“I’m too young to die,” Foggy moaned and started crawling toward the exit again.

This time Matt stayed next to him, between Foggy and the ongoing fight currently tearing up the bar. “Catholic pro-tip, always be ready to die.”

“That’s easy for you to say! I’m not Catholic. I haven’t even been baptized!” Foggy grabbed Matt’s arm and tried to pull him closer to the bar and farther from harm’s way.

A chair flew from somewhere to the right. Matt pulled Foggy to the ground as the chair smashed the bar above them. Beer spilled down drenching them both. Matt reached up and made a quick sign of the cross. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu Sancti, there you’re good.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Foggy shook his head, spraying beer around him. “I knew you’d have my back.”

A police siren cut across the fray followed by several voices shouting, “EVERYONE FREEZE!”

The sounds of the brawl turned into the sounds of escape as everyone involved pushed to get to the door. What sounded like an army of cops were on them, coming in from the backdoor, too.

Foggy groaned. “Does baptism protect against getting arrested?”

“Nope,” Matt said, popping the ‘p’ and shaking his head. “Running keeps you from getting arrested…running and escaping, which…to be honest isn’t going to happen tonight.”

“Ugh,” Foggy shifted around so he was sitting against the bar. “Please tell me this at least is one of the stages of grief.”

Matt shifted around so he was next to his friend. “It’s not.”

“Well, it is now.” Foggy brought a hand back up to stem his bloody nose. “If I’m getting arrested then it’s going to contribute to my mental and emotional recovery.”

“Not generally how people see getting arrested,” Matt said, slouching down farther. He didn’t know what time it was but he was definitely over this night and ready to go to bed.

“What a sore loser,” Foggy grumbled.

“Well, you did kinda cheat,” Matt replied. One of the cops had just noticed them sitting on the floor against the bar. “And then you tried to lawyer your way out of it.”

“S’not cheating,” Foggy said, “It’s using creative tactics, which I might add made me win, so that makes them the winning tactics and the winning tactics are always the best tactics. Besides, lawyering is what we do or…what we’re going to do, so long as we survive my mom when she finds out what happened.”

Matt grinned. They were definitely getting arrested and probably spending the night in the drunk tank. Then, Foggy’s mom would pick them both up and bring them home. She’d scold them and give disappointed looks that managed to affect even Matt and kept Foggy on the straight and narrow for the next month. But this night did accomplish the intended goal, neither of them were thinking about getting dumped. Matt supposed they had to take small favors where they could.

::THE END::


End file.
